


hot and sweet

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Curtain Fic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Yawning, Richie makes his way towards Eddie’s voice, into their kitchen.Theirkitchen. They only just moved in the day before, their first place together, and the only things set up, really, are their bed and one armchair in the living room——and, apparently, Eddie’s fancy coffee machine, set up on their countertop, half of Eddie’s size, coming up to end at his eye level where it rests in front of him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	hot and sweet

**Author's Note:**

> written based off a prompt i got on tumblr that read: _For your prompt request will you do miniseries reddie having coffee together.[Like fancy coffee together?](https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/post/629173774376370177/for-your-prompt-request-will-you-do-miniseries)_

Richie wakes up to the smell of coffee.

He hasn’t woken up to the smell of coffee in— in  _ years,  _ if he ever has. Maybe his dad did it a couple of times when he was a kid, but he would’ve been too young to remember. With a frown, he rolls over in bed, but he finds it empty.

“Eds?” he asks, half-muffled by the pillow. He drags his head up, but further examination of the room reveals no Eddie. With a huff, he heaves himself up into a seated position, then hauls himself over the edge of the bed into standing. His back is a mess, his mouth is dry, his hair’s falling into his face. He doesn’t really care; he’s curious about Eddie.

Richie has to fumble to find his glasses on the nightstand. He slept naked — they both usually do — so he just grabs his dressing gown on the way out to ward the chill off his shoulders.

“Eds?” Richie asks again, on his way down the hall.

“Yes?” Eddie calls back. Richie stumbles, catches himself on the wall. Yawning, he makes his way towards Eddie’s voice, into their kitchen.

_ Their  _ kitchen. They only just moved in the day before, their first place together, and the only things set up, really, are their bed and one armchair in the living room—

—and, apparently, Eddie’s fancy coffee machine, set up on their countertop, half of Eddie’s size, coming up to end at his eye level where it rests in front of him.

Eddie himself is almost completely naked, wearing one of Richie’s old worn KLAD shirts, falling off one of his sharp, slim shoulders. The maroon of the shirt makes the pink in his skin warm and bright, his freckles standing out in the sunlight lighting him through the window over the sink. He’s fiddling with something on the side of the machine, slender fingers prying the thing apart; his hair catches in the light and shines golden when he ducks his head, frowning to himself.

Richie creeps in behind him, then slides his hands over Eddie’s waist slowly, relishing in the way he jumps slightly, then relaxes back against him.

“Good morning,” Richie mumbles. He kisses the back of Eddie’s neck, then slides his arms around him all the way, draping himself over Eddie’s back. He kisses his cheek then, too, before nuzzling into his throat. Eddie laughs, craning his neck to kiss Richie’s bedhead hair.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie replies. “Do you want any coffee?”

“Do I have to make a sacrifice to the machine to do it?” Richie asks. Eddie swats at his hand; Richie lets them wander further down, hitching up the frayed hem of the shirt. There’s nothing underneath, and Richie makes an intrigued humming noise, vibrating into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ll make it for you,” Eddie tells him.

“Then I’d love one,” Richie murmurs. He’s never understood the complicated machines Eddie uses; the guy’s got more appliances and nonsense than Richie knows what to do with, but he kind of loves it. All he had was a broken blender and a microwave in his old place.

Eddie keeps fucking with the machines, pushing Richie’s mug underneath the nozzle at the bottom before he starts pressing a series of buttons too quickly for Richie to follow. Richie just bites at the curve of Eddie’s shoulder; he lets his hands drift up over Eddie’s waist, up his belly, over his chest. Eddie sighs.

“I love you,” Eddie says quietly. Richie nips at his earlobe. “How much sugar do you want?”

“As much as I’m allowed to have,” Richie tells him. “Really, you can destroy my body inside-out if you’d like, let me rot from the sugar if you want, I’d let you do anything you—”

_ “Richie,”  _ Eddie laughs, twisting around to push Richie’s coffee mug into his hands. He presses a kiss to Richie’s cheek in the same moment, leaning up onto the balls of his feet to reach. “Go sit, I’ll be right there.”

In addition to the coffee machine, it turns out Eddie’s also dug out a couple of cushions and set them on the bench in the breakfast nook they have in their new kitchen. Richie has to set his mug down so he can haul a box of plates off the table. Then, though, they’re all set, and Richie scoots back on the cushions until he’s in the sunlight of the window.

Eddie keeps puttering around their kitchen for a couple more minutes. Richie leans back on the bench, holding his warm mug of too-hot coffee in his hands, and just watches him. It’s the best view he’s had in the morning since— ever.

“Hey, handsome,” Richie calls to him, voice still soft in deference to the morning. Eddie smiles before he looks up, his own mug secure in his hand.

“Hey, yourself,” Eddie replies. He climbs onto the bench beside Richie, tucking his legs up under himself and leaning into Richie’s side. Richie transfers his mug to one hand, letting his other hand drape across Eddie’s shoulders.

“What kind of coffee is this?” Richie asks, bringing it up to take his first sip. It smells good and tastes better, sweet and spiced.

“Mm,” Eddie hums around a mouthful before he swallows. “I make it myself. I import these beans from—”

“You’re such a fancy little—”

“Shut  _ up,”  _ Eddie insists, “you’re the one who  _ asked.” _

“I love you,” Richie tells him again. Eddie smiles, when he tips his head up, and Richie kisses him softly, slowly. Eddie tastes like the coffee, too, just slightly darker, a little bit more bitter than Richie’s. It makes Richie smile, too.

“What should we unpack first?” Eddie asks.

“Nothin’,” Richie tells him. “I just wanna sit here for a while with you.”

Eddie kisses him again, nice and slow. He licks into Richie’s mouth almost lazily, grazing along his tongue, just as sweet and spiced as the coffee. Distantly, Richie hears Eddie’s mug hit the table with a soft  _ thump,  _ and that’s when Eddie’s mug-warmed fingers stroke over Richie’s cheek. Eddie sighs, and they separate, only a breath apart.

“I’m okay with that,” Eddie agrees. He kisses Richie’s cheek again, then leans back into his arm, taking up his coffee again. For a long while, they just sit in the quiet warmth of the morning, sipping their coffee and enjoying each other’s company. Just for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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